


Autonomy

by Atypical16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1960s Girl Power, Alternate Universe, Coming of Age, F/M, Hogwarts, Implied/Referenced Incest, Mentor/Protégé, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Professor Tom Riddle, Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atypical16/pseuds/Atypical16
Summary: Once Bellatrix Black leaves Hogwarts, she must segue into the proper, pureblood wife the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black expects her to be - not something she's very thrilled about. However, as Professor Riddle reminds her, she has built enough magical prowess she could use as a weapon someday, when the time is right...





	Autonomy

**Author's Note:**

> A first attempt at my OTP<3 Pairing is not the focus, though.

_I'm on my way to God don’t know or even care_  
_My brain’s the weak heart and my heart’s the long stairs_  
Modest Mouse, “Heart Cooks Brain”

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

In one of the dungeons of Hogwarts, the only source of light came from a large, hanging lantern, casting an orange glow over the two students on the platform. They stood exactly ten feet apart, faced each other and bowed.

It was the very last day of NEWTs for the seventh-years. The practical portion of Defense Against the Dark Arts consisted of a duel between two matched students of equal skill level. These two students, both standing tall, mouths pressed with confidence and determination and just the faintest hint of doubt, were at the top of the class. Therefore, their duel had been saved for the last time slot.

One half of the pair was Bellatrix Black, the only female to have taken Defense beyond her fifth year. Her back was straight, ready; she was proud for simply getting to where she currently stood. It had taken lot of maneuvering. 

She pointed her blackthorn wand at her opponent, Clement Prewett, the arrogant, ginger son of one of Bellatrix’s great aunts. His father was Ignatius Prewett, Ministry official and muggle-loving fool from what she’d heard.

He mirrored her stance, lifting his wand to chest-level. The duel could now commence. It was now a matter of who could think faster. Sometimes it was Bellatrix and sometimes Prewett, but the latter always came up with something stupid. 

For example, in that second, when he sent a Tickling Charm at her. She took a step to the side and it hit her leg. Fighting the intense tingle raising every hair on her body, she pointed her wand at his neck. _Operculum!_

He, too, moved to the side, so it hit his shoulder. While Bellatrix attended to her squirming leg, gills cropped up through a torn opening in the sleeve of Prewett’s robes. He stumbled and choked out, _“Aguamenti!”_

“Tsk, tsk, Prewett,” Bellatrix taunted. “Nonverbal only.”

Prewett was still lightheaded, but it only took him another half a second to close the gills. The pair circled the platform, each staring at the other’s wand, until Prewett raised his blue eyes to Bella’s brown ones. “You sure you wish to go through with this inevitable humiliation, Black? Surely you could opt to show Professor Riddle your Defense skills privately…perhaps an oral presentation?” 

Snickers filled the air and Bellatrix didn’t dare glance to her right, where the professor sat, silently watching the scene. A blush tinged her cheeks, but she refused to dwell on it. “Sorry, Prewett, that may be the Gryffindor way, but those of noble blood hold more grace.”

“I haven’t seen much proof of that,” Prewett challenged, smirking. The way he said it suggested he’d give her a head start, but a bright blue light shot out of his wand before she could open her mouth. She deflected it to the ceiling, whirling to the right and shooting a Stinging Hex at his chest. It hit dead-on, angry wheals creeping up his neck. 

“Ooh, now you’re even uglier,” she breathed, eyes trained on his wand hand. “Didn’t think that was possible.” 

He tossed the fist with his wand as if it were an axe chopping at a tree. Again Bellatrix dodged the spell, ducking and spreading her feet apart as she slid a few feet across the platform to aim at his ribcage, sending a much stronger Tickling Charm.

Dueling, she had discovered over her seven years of magical education at Hogwarts, was a matter of controlling the relentless energy flowing through her body and directing it out of her wand. To dodge and aim and think in motion were skills she’d collected with constant practice on the periphery of the Forbidden Forest, shooting spells at nearby birds. In the beginning, as a naïve little girl, she’d felt remorseful as she’d inspected their limp bodies, but now at seventeen, it was all just part of her training. 

Prewett threw off the curse, clutching his stomach and wheezing. For a moment, Bella thought she’d won—then her vision filled with an odd, pale pink light as something hot hit her and traveled not to her heart like she’d expect but between her legs. An intense yearning overtook her, bringing her to her knees.

“Oh!” she cried, eyes rolling back as a burning heat radiated through her blood and warm fluid soaked the crotch of her knickers. When it subsided, Bella, furiously red-faced, found herself staring at a leering Prewett.

“Easier than I thought, you are,” he said snidely, displaying his lust proudly on his face. Someone behind him wolf-whistled.

“You—you blood traitor _bastard_ ,” she snarled, scrambling to her feet. However, the residual trace of whatever-on-Earth that spell was made her legs as weak as pudding, bringing her back down. As her palms hit the stone, a spell slammed into her shoulder. Invisible pins and needles pricked her skin all over, causing her to wince in pain.

She groped for her wand, but her hands were all but useless. Jeering from the others on the sidelines filled her ears—at the moment, she was simply a girl, as weak and silly as those giggly Hufflepuffs who took Divination with their teased hair and pink lipstick. 

_Bloody hell, get up, you’re losing!_ Her mind was screaming itself hoarse. _Don’t let this arse-licker beat you, you are BETTER THAN HIM!_ She was nothing if not a duelist, _nothing…_

At last her wand was in her hand and her feet were underneath her, knees straightening, long dark hair draped over one eye, hand lifting… _Power, you’re powerful, show them just how much…_

 _Rictusempra!_ She caught herself just before howling the incantation, thrusting her wand toward Prewett, who immediately went flying.

In that same second, Bellatrix lifted her wand high above her head and froze him in place so that he was suspended on his side, facing away. Perfect. She pointed at his trousers and tore them clean off before sending him crashing to the floor. She kept her wand trained on him, expecting him to grapple for his own, which was rolling toward the edge of the platform. But he lay immobile as it rolled off and clattered to the floor.

The _clack_ against the floor signified the end of the duel. Cheers and clapping roared through the air as Bella let a small grin of triumph cross her face. Prewett jumped to his feet, chagrined, and she would’ve savored his fall from grace had she not been more concerned with the reaction of the shadowed figure approaching the platform, stepping into the dim light of the hanging lantern.

The entire school bowed to Tom Riddle. Tall, dark-haired, and absurdly attractive, he could keep students in line with only the penetrative stare of his dark eyes. It was this stare he directed at Bellatrix as she waited with her breath held in her throat for his remark. A lullaby to her ears, better than anticipated: “Very impressive, Miss Black.”

Her heart swelled, an earnest grin stretching her still-flushed cheeks. This particular wizard’s praise was worth more to her than all the gold in her family’s vault at Gringotts. After seven years under his rigid instruction, including a few detentions-turned-extra-lessons, she stepped off the platform for the last time, brimming with pride.

“Not bad, Black,” Prewett conceded as they gathered their things after Riddle’s dismissal of the class, wishing them luck on their “endeavors.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, wishing she could catch Riddle alone, but he’d already retreated to his office and closed the door. With a sigh, she trailed behind Prewett and the others out of the classroom. In the corridor, she began to needle him in hopes of abating the stream of sorrow flowing into her chest. 

“Don’t worry, Prewett, I’m sure Mummy and Daddy will still be proud of you. You’re already exceeding their expectations by finishing Hogwarts.”

“Pity you’re not living up to yours,” he shot back, “especially since all you’ve got to do is shut up and get married.” 

Bellatrix’s mouth twisted in disgust; he’d wounded her with that one. She was betrothed to the pureblood Rodolphus Lestrange, the wedding approaching at light speed, and she couldn’t think of anything less appealing than playing proper, pureblood wife. Utter misery, it seemed like, if her mother was any indication.

Prewett, to his credit, realized he’d gone too far. “Don’t take offense, Black. If I was that Lestrange bloke, I’d secure that wedding as soon as possible, too.” 

Bellatrix felt her jaw drop in surprise. Prewett had flirted with her often the past two years, but he’d never made his fancy so blatantly clear. It must’ve been beyond his intention, for his freckled cheeks turned pink and he looked away. She thought of the spell he’d hit her with, how it brought the same type of pleasure she felt in the seventh-year girls’ dormitory with the bed hangings drawn, touching herself. She debated asking him what it was but decided not to.

Before she could press him about his remark, Octavius Weasley, another Gryffindor prat, appeared at his other side. “Oi, Clement, not bad being second, mate.”

Bellatrix couldn’t resist firing, since it was unlikely she’d have another chance to. “What would you know, Weasley? You’ve never been close to second. Must be why your mum named you ‘eighth’ after all.” 

Prewett’s mouth twitched, but out of loyalty to his friend, he didn’t laugh. Weasley was about to snarl a reply, then evidently decided it wasn’t worth getting his ego punctured twice in quick succession. 

By then, a crowd of seventh-years of all Houses had joined them on the short walk to the Potions classroom in the north-wing dungeons for their final NEWT. Prewett and Weasley foraged ahead, leaving Bellatrix behind without a word, though she caught Prewett looking at her as the doors to the classroom swung open. “Ah, my favorite group of students,” a rotund and cheerful Professor Slughorn greeted, “for you’re all leaving in two days!”

Marching in with the crowd, Bellatrix smiled to herself, recalling all the recent jab-wars with Prewett. Her one true love was Tom Riddle, but she had to admit she had grown fond of Clement Prewett, arrogance, traitorous alignment, and all. In any case, she’d miss insulting him. 

Enough wasting all your thinking on a silly boy, she chided herself as she set up her cauldron next to her partner, the Ravenclaw half-blood Head Girl, Faustina Myriad. The two other seventh-year Slytherin girls also took Potions, but Bellatrix didn’t care for either of them. Rose Greengrass looked and acted like an eleven-year-old girl, and Hortensia Travers was a right and utter slag. Luckily, the pair stuck together and generally ignored Bellatrix.

“Please, dear Merlin, tell me you’ve brought the moonstone powder,” Faustina Myriad sighed from beside her. “I’ve no idea where mine could’ve gone.”

Bellatrix shrugged; she’d lost half her supplies by the middle of last term. “Sluggy’s got some in his compartment, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, but it’s not Brewster’s, is it?” The girl actually cared, her dark blue eyes shining with concern.

“Faustina, what does it matter?” Bellatrix asked, forcing patience into her tone.

Faustina either missed her exasperation or ignored it, likely the latter. “Well, Brewster’s is always fresh, so it dissolves fully into the potion, thus increasing the magnitude of every stir…” 

Bellatrix had stopped listening, starting to dream of her bed and silk pillow. She’d been up since before the sun, whirling and ducking and aiming, preparing for the duel. She hoped whichever potion Slughorn was about to assign them didn’t involve very precise measurements. 

Unfortunately, she was too optimistic. “Ladies and gentlemen, for your NEWT practical, you will choose—or rather, I will assign you a potion from this term, since none of you have mastered any. I sure hope the second time will yield better results!”

“Which d’you think we’ll get?” Faustina leaned in and whispered.

“Haven’t an idea,” Bellatrix muttered back. “Hopefully not the Draught of Living Death.”

“Ah, excellent choice, Miss Black!” boomed Slughorn as he materialized next to their table from absolutely nowhere. “That’s a tricky one but I’ve no doubt Miss Myriad will whip up something excellent. And you, of course.” 

Bellatrix willed her eyes not to roll to the back of her skull. To add insult to injury, Prewett leaned over and snickered, “Well done, Black.” 

Faustina had a look on her face that suggested she was refraining from blurting out _thanks a lot_. Rather than say it, she turned back to the empty jar of moonstone powder residue. “Let’s get to it, then.”

And so they did, or more accurately, Faustina got to it while Bellatrix simply fetched the ingredients they lacked. Normally she enjoyed brewing potions but at the moment, her mind was threatening to shut off, eyes reading to close. She knew she was tired when she conjured up the image of Tom Riddle, his calm but slightly biting voice in her ears. 

Meanwhile, Faustina paid no attention as long as Bellatrix followed along. The latter usually had problems with authority, but the Head Girl, in her opinion, was alright. They had an odd fondness of each other, like she and Prewett without the insults. Faustina was a rather atypical Head Girl, interested in not keeping supreme rule over the student body but that shiny bit of ink on her Healer Training application. This was no secret and Bella appreciated how straightforward she was. Therefore, when Faustina asked, “Where on Earth is your head?” Bellatrix simply shrugged instead of snapping back.

“End of term is all.” 

The other witch nodded as she stirred counter-clockwise, whispering out loud as she counted, as Bella returned to Planet Riddle for a bit. When she came back to Earth, Slughorn was standing in front of them, announcing they’d come in second place for brewing the best potion.

“Who’re the first?” Faustina asked at once. Apparently, he’d just announced the third-place winners and Prewett’s blue eyes were on Bellatrix. Perhaps he and Weasley, she figured.

“In first place is another pair of bright ladies, Miss Greengrass and Miss Travers!”

 _“What?”_ Faustina hissed softly. Bellatrix bit back a chuckle. How in the name of Merlin those two bimbos brewed that good of a potion was far beyond her. However, she couldn’t care less at the moment, for the weight of NEWTs was finally lifted from her shoulders. 

Faustina, as expected, held a different sentiment: “Second best, eurgh. I knew our potion was too opaque. It was blacker than the lake!” 

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Bellatrix replied, irritable from exhaustion. She rubbed her eyes, smearing the charcoal lines she’d carefully drawn along her eyelashes that morning. On her other side, Prewett and Weasley walked by, the former’s eyes lingering on her again.

“Forgive me, Black,” Faustina said, her usual preamble to saying something highly offensive, “but my future is at stake here. I need NEWTs in five subjects. You haven’t even got to finish to be Mrs. Lestrange.” 

Bellatrix, stung by the truth in the statement, snapped, “Bite your tongue, half-blood.” 

The Head Girl fell silent. At the split between the north- and south-wing dungeons, Bella turned to her. “Look, Myriad, you’ll be fine. He’s definitely given us an E and you’ve gotten an E in all your other subjects, at the very least.” Rubbing her eyes even more, she continued, “Please excuse me, I’ve got to finish packing.”

She left Faustina in the corridor, desperate to believe her. In truth, Bellatrix had no clue how she’d preformed on her other NEWTs, but she hadn’t the energy to placate her any further.

Halfway to the passageway to the girls’ dormitories, she was accosted by her youngest sister, Narcissa. “Bella!” the small blonde squealed. “Mummy and Daddy are coming to the Farewell Ceremony!”

“Fantastic.” Bellatrix didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Get lost, Cissy. I need a nap.”

“Clearly,” her sister shot back, rolling her eyes and flouncing away. “I’m so excited for summer!”

That makes one of us, Bella replied in her head. Of course dear Cissy wanted to leave Hogwarts and slide back in the clutches of their parents. They doted on her much more than either Bella or her middle sister, Andromeda. Except they gave no attention at all to Andromeda and only the wrong kind to Bellatrix—no, enough. She was not going to ruin her last night at Hogwarts thinking of that wretched pair.

“Finally alone at last,” she sighed to herself upon shutting herself inside the empty seventh-year dormitory and heading straight to her four-poster bed. Kicking off her shoes, she collapsed face-down. Her wand jabbed her in the neck, so she pulled it out of her robes and stuffed it under her pillow. 

Nearly instantly, blackness swallowed her whole, wiping her mind blissfully blank. Then she opened her eyes and found herself in her bedroom back in Black Manor. The moon was shining through the floor-to-ceiling window, lighting up the crystals of the chandelier.

Her vision was distorted, the blood rushing in her ears. A shadow cut through the moonlight, a tall figure approaching. Him, of course it was him.

“Are you sleeping, sweetheart?” A slurred growl, hands on her face, hot breath soaked with gin. Here we go again, she recited as his mouth met her neck, her blanket being pulled away, her nightdress lifting up, the same familiar story but somehow, this was more sinister. Cygnus’ eyes were glowing red, his teeth growing sharper as he moved toward her breasts, opening his mouth—

With a gasp, Bellatrix jerked awake, relieved to find herself back in the dormitory at Hogwarts, late afternoon sunlight flooding through the circular window between her four-poster bed and Rose Greengrass’s.

She tried to check the time but she’d been laying on her arm, cutting off circulation. Wincing from the thousands of tiny, invisible pricks in her hand, she managed to turn her wrist to see her watch. Her “nap” had lasted a total of 17 minutes.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, trying to push the dream to the darker pits of her mind. Why on Earth was she thinking of him now, of all times? It was all stupid Narcissa’s fault for planting the seed of him in her head. Though the unrest in her mind had been slowly creeping in as the Farewell Ceremony—now a mere 24 hours away—approached.

Bella sat up, heaving another heavy sigh. No use trying to sleep now. She didn’t want to dream of him again, even if she could fall asleep. Additionally, the two dolts were due in the dormitory soon to get trussed up for supper and the last gathering later that evening.

She didn’t plan to attend the gathering, but she trudged to the mirror all the same. The least she could do was fix her makeup and comb her hair, especially if she was hoping Professor Riddle was taking his supper in the Great Hall. With slightly shaking hands, she reapplied the charcoal line to her heavy eyelids. As predicted, her housemates arrived and pulled off their school robes, spirits audibly lifted after finishing NEWTs. 

Bellatrix stepped away from the mirror and gave herself a full-body glance. Perhaps she, too, should change out of her school robes, but for some odd reason, she didn’t like that idea at the moment. She smoothed down her skirt and flicked her hair over her shoulders before turning away. 

“Oh, Bellatrix,” said Hortensia Travers just as her hand touched the doorknob. “Congrats on your potion. I was quite surprised you and Myriad didn’t come in first.” 

Bellatrix nodded without any of her usual curtness. “Thank you, Hortensia.”

As she navigated the passageway out, she found herself strangely touched by her fellow Slytherin’s comment. In all their years at Hogwarts together, Hortensia viewed Bellatrix as competition despite her skill and family status dwelling far behind. Then she’d mucked it up entirely by having a baby last summer by a Ministry official she’d been regularly meeting up with at Hogsmeade. Bellatrix had figured that would be the end of her, another witch at home under a wizard, but Hortensia had surprised everyone on the first of September with her presence on the Hogwarts Express, ready to complete her seventh year.

Suppose she isn’t ready to face her fate, either, Bella thought, stepping into the common room. Suppose we’re quite alike in that regard.

To her dismay, Narcissa had waited for her to accompany her to supper. Just the sight of her dredged up that dream-memory of their father and kick-started Bellatrix’s heartbeat again.

In the span of 20 minutes, her younger sister had fallen grim. “The older-years are taking over the common room and throwing a party. They said we’re not invited.” 

“You won’t miss a single thing,” Bellatrix assured her. “They act even more like bumbling idiots with alcohol in them.”

For their last supper as seventh-year students, the Great Hall was decorated with candles of all shapes and sizes floating across the ceiling. They featured the House colors mixed together: green, silver, red, gold, yellow, black, blue, and bronze. This was to symbolize the mixing of the Houses once they left Hogwarts and entered wizarding society as adults, the headmaster had explained one year.

The headmaster, Armando Dippet, was over 250 years old, so many of the executive decisions were made by the Transfiguration professor, Albus Dumbledore. Bellatrix had mixed feelings regarding Dumbledore: on the one hand, he seemed to really concern himself with the well-being of the students. On the other hand, he was a rumored muggle-lover and had a bias against Slytherins, apparent in the many disciplinary actions against her over the years. Granted, Bellatrix was no angel, but his dislike of her seemed to extend beyond her impulsive hex-firing. Once he’d threatened to have her expelled, effectively sending her back to her parents. In fact, she decided, she did hate him. 

He and Slughorn, were already seated at the professors’ table, tucking into supper. The empty seat on the end was the first thing Bella’s eyes had snapped to upon entering the Great Hall, even before the candles. Her heart was sinking a bit. Riddle was not there and since he was never late to anything, he was likely not going to come. 

However, there was still the faintest ray of hope. Maybe he’d gotten distracted reading one of those old, thick texts always sprawled across his desk. Or he had to give a wayward student the last admonishment for the school year. To distract herself, Bellatrix glanced around the Hall, checking out the other students. 

Her eyes fell on the Hufflepuff table and she felt herself rising before she registered what she was seeing. Her sister, Andromeda, was seated next to a boy; Bellatrix knew not his name, but she did know he was a mudblood. 

Andromeda glanced up, saw her approaching, and quickly excused herself. She met her sister halfway between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Bella felt Prewett’s eyes on her once more, but she was too rankled to pay him any mind. “Just _what_ are you _doing_ , Andromeda? You were sorted into Slytherin, yes? Have you forgotten where you belong?” 

Her younger sister rolled her eyes. “Yes, Bella, I’m aware. I’m going.” They walked side by side until they reached the Slytherin table. Narcissa had moved to the other end, chatting with the other first-year girls.

“Look, Andy,” Bella muttered quietly once they were seated. “I’m not just referring to Slytherin House. You need to remember your place as a Black on the top of the hierarchy. By consorting with that mudblood, you’re going against all of our family values.” 

“Yes, I know, _toujours pur_ ,” Andy replied, making a face. “Honestly, Bella, what’s it to Mother and Father who I fancy?”

“Well, you see, Andykins,” Bellatrix explained in a falsely-sweet tone as if she was speaking to a small child, “there are these round things called _galleons_ —”

“Money isn’t everything, Bella,” Andy cut her off tartly. “I don’t need nearly as much as you do to be happy. Furthermore, you’ll not have to answer to our parents either once you marry that Lestrange bloke.”

Oddly comforted by that statement, Bella opened her mouth to reply, but just then, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She turned and looked up at the sneering, hamster-like face of Lucius Malfoy. “Well, if it isn’t the Black sisters together at last. What a sight to behold.”

His sidekick, Antonin Dolohov, cackled in response. Here we go again, Bellatrix thought, not bothering to hide her displeasure with their company. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“That’s not a very nice response,” Malfoy answered, flicking a lock of smooth blonde hair off his forehead. “Considering the offer I’m about to propose.”

“Which is…?” She was losing patience with each second the heat escaped from the plate of food in front of her. Andy didn’t bother waiting for the end of the conversation, her fork clinking obnoxiously against her plate.

“Marry me instead of Lestrange,” he declared boldly. “The Malfoy name is worth just as much if not more so.” 

Bellatrix stared at him in disbelief. She’d known that Malfoy, like Prewett, fancied her, but he was a fifth-year for Merlin’s sake, not to mention completely insufferable. All she could do was shake her head. For a moment, her attention wandered over to the professors’ table, willing Riddle to appear. 

“Come on,” Malfoy said, undaunted. Beside him, a disinterested Antonin Dolohov scanned the Ravenclaw table for Faustina Myriad, oddly the object of his fancy. Dolohov was as pureblooded as they come, rich and descended from some tsar, yet he wanted a half-blood who resided at the end of Knockturn Alley with her single, alcoholic mother. One more strangely-shaped piece of the puzzle that was human attraction. 

Growing frustrated, Malfoy took his hand off Bellatrix’s shoulder and stepped back. “Fine, then. I’ll just have to take Narcissa instead.” 

Bella scrunched up her face as Andy hissed softly into her food. “She’s _eleven_ , you pervert.”

“Not forever,” he pointed out and in that same moment, Bellatrix felt her blood run cold. Now that she was promised to Lestrange, would Cygnus replace her with one of her sisters? 

Heart again thumping in her throat, she looked at Andromeda. The younger girl had lost interest in the conversation, shoveling food in her mouth and sneaking glances at the Hufflepuff table. She was 15 years old and Cygnus had first visited Bellatrix at 13; had he already turned to Andromeda? No, a comforting voice automatically answered. Andy was her usual clumsy, unabashed self. As absurd as the notion was, she was not Cygnus’ type.

And Narcissa… 

Bellatrix raised her eyes and finally unstuck her tongue from her suddenly-dry mouth. “Sod off, Malfoy.” 

“Superb rebuttal,” he snickered but obeyed, striding away with Dolohov at last.

“See? You’d prefer me to marry one of those prats?” Andy asked through a mouthful of baked potatoes.

“Yes,” said Bellatrix without conviction. At the moment, Andy fancying a mudblood was the least of her concerns. Even Riddle’s absence from the Great Hall descended in importance. Her mind was plagued with that unnerving question, her heart still incessant in her ears. She gulped down some cold tea, hoping to clear her head, but that only made it worse: now her stomach was churning and spots danced in front of her eyes. 

“Excuse me,” she choked out, standing abruptly, keeping her eyes down and breathing steady. Dizziness assaulted her at all sides. 

“Bella, are you alright?” Andy’s concerned voice sounded like it was coming through the Black Lake.

Bellatrix managed to nod before leaving, keeping her footsteps at her normal pace rather than dashing out like she really wanted to. Head down, face blank, she walked straight out of the Hall and turned right in the corridor.

She knew not where she was going until she was in the entrance of the library. The sight—all those books—and the sound—a distant humming from who-knew-where—were enough to completely orient her. She took a few more steps inside, letting the books and calm ensconce her.

If she were to peruse the Restricted Section—normally the only reason she frequented the library—tonight would be the night to sneak in. However, her feet carried her not straight back between the shelves as they grew dustier, but to the right, in a narrow row against the wall. Nearby, it had a circular window, through which sunlight slowly dimmed to early evening.

The shelves contained the same leather spines with gold-stamped letters. At first, they all looked the same to Bellatrix. Upon further inspection, she saw the variation in the years next to the words _Alumni of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ on each one, all the way down to the years 1500-1550. She discovered the earlier years a second later when she turned to the shelves behind her.

Her name would be in 1950-PRESENT, but she was not interested in finding herself. Instead, she pulled out the one behind it. The leather was soft against her palms—many people had looked through it. Looking, like her, for answers within a few words on a page. 

_Black, Cygnus Arcturus_ was on page 226, in the section titled _1946_ , the year he’d finished. Before looking at the photograph, she sat down on the thick rug and let the book fall to her lap. Bloody hell, he’d been handsome. Of course if he was handsome now in his 40s, it was no surprise he’d been at 18. Here, he looked more like arrogant schoolboy than the quick-to-anger man she knew. Did this boy ever think he’d grow up to lie with his own daughter? Does anyone?

 _Ladies of the House of Black do not step out of their place_ , her mother Druella’s voice rang in her ear. This place was under a wizard, Bella had learned through the years by observing her parents. Cygnus Black rarely gave his wife and daughters the time of day.

But when he did… 

The worst, ugliest part of the whole mess was that Bellatrix, after a certain number of bedtime visits, had grown to look forward to them. She’d wanted it; her body had flooded with arousal at the sight of him. All the shame that could fill her chest wouldn’t push away the latent but relentless desire for her father’s affections. The truth laid bare in her mind was squeezing her throat.

This was why she feared for Narcissa. She would be _special_ until Cygnus decided he didn’t want her anymore and dismissed her like he’d done with Bellatrix. Fragile Narcissa wouldn’t cope with it; she’d run to Druella. She was an exact copy of Druella down to the never-ending swot and grey eyes. With the way Cygnus treated Druella, she was clearly not his type, either.

Bellatrix blinked and flipped the page to her uncle Orion. Narcissa was out, so was Andromeda. And, as a handful of people have been pointing out, she would soon belong to Rodolphus Lestrange. Letting out a breath, she blotted the stray tears with her handkerchief. Enough of this crying and these dramatic thoughts, she scolded herself. 

Her latest method of distraction was conjuring memories of Tom Riddle and how their most recent interaction had sent her straight over the moon. It occurred to her that Riddle and her father were the same age and had fraternized during their Hogwarts years. However, he was not in year 1946, so she tried the next year. Not there either, so she went to the previous year, 1945. 

There he was: _Riddle, Tom Marvolo_ in all his stunning, 18-year-old glory. Unsurprisingly, he’d been Head Boy. Riddle was no pureblood English name Bellatrix knew, but many wizards, Cygnus included, claimed he was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Perhaps that was where _Marvolo_ came from— 

“Excuse me, young lady,” a haughty, nasally voice cut through the air, startling her. She looked up at the ornery librarian, Madam Elspeth. 

“The library is about to close,” the older woman informed her tartly, “so you’d best get going.”

Without energy to argue, Bellatrix reluctantly shut the book on Tom Riddle’s handsome teenage face and returned it to the shelf. She left after that, hoping the library’s scent would stay on her a while, despite all the tears she’d just shed inside of it. Like many aspects of Hogwarts, she quite liked it there.

The thing she’d miss most of all in Hogwarts was not a thing but a wizard. The most brilliant wizard of all time, to be more specific. A spark of greed fired through her. She wanted more of his praise, but how to get it? By going and taking it, an internal voice told her. Thank him for those supplementary lessons—it is he who turned you from good to great, after all.

Resolve set in place, Bellatrix made her way to the Slytherin dungeons. The common room was strangely empty. The majority of Slytherins were prepping for the festivities to commence at sundown. The witches would gather in two dormitories, one for older-years and the other for younger-years, while wizards in all years took over the common room. 

For now, Bellatrix had no choice but to participate in the end-of-term tradition, joining Rose Greengrass and Hortensia Travers in the seventh-year dormitory, changing her robes and fixing her hair and makeup yet again. They would not have concerned themselves over her absence but the fifth- and sixth-year girls would arrive soon, bringing Andromeda. Losing her would be a challenge.

The next time I’m dressing is into my nightdress, Bella thought irritably as she fastened the may buttons on her dress robes. Why they had to get all dressed up when they were likely not to see a single bloke was beyond her. On the other side of the room, the two others were discussing their plans after Hogwarts.

“I’ve already got the job as a stenographer,” Rose was saying. “I’m going to be recording all the cases in the Ministry dungeons, hearing all the madness firsthand. Pretty neat, eh?” 

Pulling on a fresh pair of hose, Bellatrix tried not to cringe.

“And you?” 

“Oh, who knows,” Hortensia sighed. “According to his letters, Lex wants me to have another baby. Pity I haven’t been taught many household spells. At least I’m decent with potions.”

“And at least you’re married,” Rose added.

As Bellatrix tied a ribbon around her hairline and made a small bow at the top of her head, she felt Rose’s eyes boring into the back of her head. Neither of them could dream to be married to someone like Lestrange. As if it were _her_ fault she was born from better stock.

Andromeda burst in then, carrying a plate of biscuits, trailed by two other sixth-years. “Evening, ladies. Who’s got the kettle?”

Bella turned to the others, who were setting the teacups on the small table. She transfigured candlesticks into small chairs and placed them around the table, all the while calculating times in her head. The tea party could be ditched early in the evening, but the next obstacle out of the Slytherin chambers would take more time to handle.

She took her seat next to Andy. On her other side was Hortensia Travers, who twirled her long, dirty-blonde hair like she was getting paid to do so. As Bellatrix passed the ceramic, hand-painted kettle, a Black heirloom, to Andy, she noticed a small, purple-black mark on her sister’s neck, partially covered by a silk sheet of brown hair.

Bellatrix knew she should probably give one last lecture about pursuing mudbloods, perhaps in front of the others to shame her a bit. However, she found that she couldn’t care less about the blood status of anyone Andy or even Narcissa pursued. Let dear Cygnus and Druella handle it, she thought snidely.

After at least four cups of tea was the appropriate time to excuse herself. She’d originally planned on using the loo, but that would only excuse about one-quarter of her absence. Mind moving at record speeds from the caffeine, she waited until Rose Green started a monologue about how she adored the French Quidditch player Pierre Ebene to gently but swiftly drop her teacup onto the matching plate and gasp.

“Good heavens,” she exclaimed when everyone turned to her. “I’ve just remembered—I’ve got to return a book to the library!”

“You’re kidding,” said Andromeda, but Bella heard the envy in her voice; she bought it. Without looking at the table, Bellatrix rummaged through her trunk for her Defense book. She wished to keep it to remember Riddle and all he’d taught her, but it was the only book none of them would recognize on sight. 

“I think the library is closed,” Rose Greengrass spoke up, but Bella merely shrugged. A few steps out the door and she was free, plain and simple. None of them would dare question a Black, not out loud anyway. She was hoping the same phenomenon would extend to the boys, but that was pushing a fair bit of luck. 

Snorts floated up through the passageway as she approached the common room. At the last second, she pulled up her hood; perhaps they were pissed enough to let her sneak by undetected. 

Of course, that too required luck Bellatrix was in short supply of. “Girl!” a prepubescent voice emitted and at once, she felt about 42 eyes on her figure.

“Come here, Tensy,” called Lucius Malfoy. He and a small group of older-years sat at a table tucked in the corner, a large green bottle serving as the centerpiece. Playing cards were lying in various groups and pairs in front of each boy.

“Who’s Tensy?” Bellatrix asked, temporarily forgetting her mission. She set the Defense book, now useless since they’d seen it, on the empty table.

“Oh, it’s Black,” Cornelius Nott clarified to the others.

“Never you mind, Black,” Malfoy said to her, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. If _arrogance_ was a person, Bella thought. “Where are you going?”

“Never you mind,” she shot back with a smirk of her own. Belatedly, it clicked who this “Tensy” they’d been expecting was: Hortensia Travers. Useful information, had she discovered it a few months ago.

“Well, whatever it is, it can wait,” Malfoy said before pointing at Nott and commanding, “Go fetch the lady some champagne.”

Nott was clearly not pleased to carry out the duty, but he left the table nonetheless. Malfoy was her counterpart to the Slytherin boys; he made the rules. 

“You may as well do something useful and take over his hand,” he suggested, nodding to Nott’s seat.

For a moment, Bellatrix simply glared. The audacity of this little boy! Though this was preferable to him propositioning her. She took a seat and picked up Nott’s cards.

“Not the greatest idea, Malfoy,” Antonin Dolohov sneered, “letting her drink and play. Just because she behaves like a wizard doesn’t make her suitable for wizards’ activity, if you ask me.”

“Who is actually asking you, though?” Bellatrix pointed out, and the air around her filled with snickers. Keeping her face blank, she surveyed Nott’s cards: rubbish except for a jack and ace of spades. The matching queen was laid next to the deck with at least a dozen cards ahead of it. Was it worth fattening up the hand to play it?

“You’re up, Selwyn.”

“Mm. When’s the ceremony again?”

“First of July, ten o’clock.” 

“Got the address, then?”

“Yes, it’s in some place called Little Hangleton.” 

“Where the hell’s that?”

“Haven’t the faintest.” 

Bellatrix hadn’t an idea what they were referring to and didn’t want to display her ignorance, so she kept quiet. She’d never heard of Little Hangleton, either. They were obviously not discussing the Hogwarts Farewell Ceremony.

For once, luck was on her side: Nott returned, appearing on Malfoy’s side with a champagne bottle in his hand, and asked, “What are you talking about?” 

“The Indoctrination Ceremony, genius,” Malfoy informed him snidely. “Unless, of course, you weren’t invited?” 

“Are you mad?” Nott snapped, setting the bottle and a single glass on the table rather forcefully. “Of course I was invited. My granddad, father, and four of my cousins are Knights.”

The Knights of Walpurgis: yet another group witches were excluded from. Bellatrix stopped listening, for Dolohov had just discarded a king of spades, the exact one she needed to complete a 45-point set, before excusing himself.

“Alright, Nott, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” said Malfoy. “Pour the witch a glass of champagne and take your hand back.”

She accepted the glass but did not relinquish the cards. “I haven’t gone yet.”

“That’s Nott’s job. You can sit right here next to me and look pretty sipping from that glass.”

Selwyn chuckled, but Bella didn’t deign them a response except, “It’s your turn, Malfoy.” 

When it became apparent she wasn’t going to move, Malfoy picked up a card from the deck. Apparently it was a ten, for he laid down a set of three. Now it was Bella’s turn and she didn’t hesitate to pick up the cards, sort them, and throw down the set. 

“Hmm, nice,” Nott remarked.

“You’re welcome, Nott,” she answered as she set the cards facedown and swallowed the remainder of the champagne. “Please excuse me, gentlemen. I must return a book to the library.” She stood, patting the right pocket of her robes, where an imaginary library book sat, perhaps a paperback novel. She didn’t let them get a closer look, walking briskly through the stone passageway and out of the common room. 

Only the sound of her saddle shoes against the floor filled the corridor, that and her own heavy breathing. Questions raced through her mind at the speed of light: would she be a nuisance to him, was she going too far, was this the right decision? Only one way to find out, she answered herself. 

Her thoughts were cut short by nearly slamming into Antonin Dolohov, sneaking back to the common room from Merlin-knows-where. “Where are you going?” he demanded. 

“Library,” she told him coolly, “not that it’s any of your business.”

Dolohov narrowed his eyes. “The library is the other way, Black.”

“Listen up,” Bellatrix snapped, hoping she didn’t appear nervous and desperate. “If you want a real chance with Faustina Myriad, you’ll go back to the common room and be quiet.”

“I don’t need your help getting Myriad or any other witch,” he declared, but she knew he was lying through his teeth. Bella withheld that his chances of having Faustina Myriad were slim to none regardless of what anyone told her. 

Once Dolohov’s heavy footsteps faded, she made her way deeper into the dungeons to the Defense classroom for the second time that day. Her chest tightened the tiniest bit—it almost felt like she was going to another “detention,” just later in the evening on a Wednesday rather than the usual Friday at eight o’clock sharp. 

She was headed to the office all the way through and to the right, but she caught sight of the platform, left clear from earlier that day. The urge to step upon it overwhelmed her. Ultimately, she decided against it, for it would make her too sentimental, reliving the past seven years on that platform, discovering and harnessing her magical prowess, turning from helpless child to a witch capable of almost anything.

Anything except evading her fate as proper pureblood wife, in her “place,” exactly where Cygnus and all the other men wanted her.

Enough, she scolded herself. Here she’d gone all sentimental directly after telling herself not to. She had business to take care of this evening, though this was likely to be intense as well. This was the last time she’d see Riddle, possibly forever.

“Better make it count,” she whispered to herself as she took slow, hesitant steps toward the office door. A slice of bright yellow cutting through the dark indicated that he was in there. Filling her lungs with a heavy breath and releasing it, Bellatrix raised her fist and knocked on the door. 

“Enter,” called the crisp voice through the wood.

Her sweaty palm clasped the cool knob and turned, opening the door. For one moment of pure, blind panic, she could not get her feet to move. Then she stepped into the office, meeting Tom Riddle’s dark eyes. 

His facial expression didn’t change upon seeing her standing awkwardly by the door. “Good evening, Miss Black. Please have a seat.” The piece of parchment he’d been writing on with his elegant script rolled itself up and slid into the top drawer. Still holding his quill, he watched her as she planted her rear in the wooden chair across the desk. 

“What brings you here?” he asked, his polite-professor voice turned fully on. She yearned for the commands, the taunts and hisses as he needled her to think faster, control her wand hand, assume proper stance, pushing her until dueling came to her as breathing. 

“I merely wish to thank you, Professor,” she told him in her just-as-polite tone, “for I have grown quite a bit under your instruction.”

“That’s very kind of you.” He held her eyes and a scene played out in her head whole she simply sat and watched a girl, identical to her, wave the door closed, sat upon the desk, and opened her legs, inviting him to explore. Watching with relish as his eyes filled with the same hunger Cygnus had, except Riddle’s would be natural.

And he might’ve accepted her offer, but it was impossible to know for sure. She would’ve thought the idea absurd before last year when he’d caught her sneaking into the Forbidden Forest for the second time and she’d begged him not to take her to Dippet, which would ultimately lead to expulsion when the headmaster reviewed the long scroll of her infractions. The threat of being sent home, her education denied her, had choked her with icy dread.

But Riddle hadn’t sent her to Dippet. In a shocking gesture of leniency, he simply deducted House points, told her plainly to stop misbehaving, and sent her on her way. Ever since that emotional seesaw of a day, she’d wondered how he felt toward her. Certainly not the adoration she had for him—but did he feel anything at all? 

“Well, erm, goodnight, sir,” she mumbled, flushing when she realized she’d just been gazing into his eyes like a lovesick puppy.

Just as she was about to rise, Riddle withdrew his yew wand and closed the door. She immediately froze, her mind spinning. Would she really undress for him if he requested it? 

Absolutely not, a snappish internal voice answered, resembling her mother, despite every other part of her body screaming _yes_. 

“Miss Black,” he said softly, “I’ve noticed over your years at Hogwarts that your magical skill far exceeds average. I advise you, moving forth, to sharpen your power, for only a few possess it.”

The words caressed her heart and ballooned it within her chest, while a wave of pleasure rivaling the strongest orgasm passed from her head to her toes. “Th-thank you, sir,” she breathed. “I hope to…though I don’t think I’ll have much time, being a wife and all.”

Bellatrix did her best to keep the bitterness out of her voice, despite sensing he could detect it regardless. Riddle detected everything—his brilliance ranged far beyond his prodigious magical talent.

He was still surveying her. Her eyes lowered to her lap, where her sweaty hands were clasped together. His eyes were not filled with lust, yet not with contempt, either. Bella thought herself proficient at deciphering the intentions of men, but Tom Riddle was impossible to figure out.

“In fact,” he said after a thick silence, “I’d recommend you join the Knights of Walpurgis. Rodolphus Lestrange is a member, yes?”

Bellatrix raised her head and nodded, bewildered. The Knights of Walpurgis was an elite underground group formed decades ago by Magical Britain’s top blood. All wizards of the Sacred 28 were Knights; each was taught ancient and extraordinary magic. Witches were not allowed, but Riddle was a top-ranked Knight, she’d learned from overheard conversations between Cygnus and his brother, Orion.

“I don’t—I don’t think they’d let me in, sir?” she stammered, wringing her hands. This was a test, a joke, it must’ve been, though Riddle was about the joking-type as her miserable old aunt Walburga.

He tilted his head to the side and spoke almost kindly, as if reassuring her. “The leader of the Knights grows more powerful by the day. I can convince him—and Rodolphus—to bring you amongst the ranks. Your wand would be as useful as your status and wealth. Perhaps even more so.”

Her face flushed; her heart thumped in her chest. “You’d really do that for me, sir?” 

“Of course.”

She let the gratitude fill her face and directed it to him, beaming it from her eyes to his. “Oh, my…thank you, Professor! That would be brilliant!” 

“You’re welcome, Bellatrix.”

Her name, which he’d never used before, from his mouth unleashed a tingle radiating outward from between her legs. Before she could do something she’d regret, she stood up and pressed her palms over her robes to smooth them out. “Ha-have a nice summer, sir,” she told him with sincerity, turning toward the door. 

“You as well.” She heard the drawer opening as she left the office, the door closing behind her as soon as she stepped out.

The Knights of Walpurgis! Never had Bella dreamed of such a future. Her steps were light, her heart full, her soul high, her cheeks stretched from the constant grin as she made her way back down the corridor. Riddle had given her more pleasure with his words than she’d daydreamed he could with his hands, though she still yearned for that, too.

In the common room, most of the candles had gone out, allowing for easier creeping along the perimeter. “Oi, Black!” Of course it was Malfoy who spotted her, probably had his eye out for her, the git. “Want in on the next hand?”

She stepped out of the shadows, not bothering to wipe away the satisfied smirk from her face. “Thank you, gentlemen, but I must decline. The ladies upstairs will be wondering where I am.”

“Sounds exciting,” Malfoy replied, giving her a smirk of his own. 

“Quite.” She turned away and walked through the stone passageway, head held high, hair flowing down her back. Malfoy, et al were guaranteed Knights, but _she_ would be the one to lift the Black family name to higher glory. She, not her dumb cousins, Sirius and Regulus. The latter was a snot-faced kid and the former a general prat. She would prove to both Riddle and the mysterious leader that she was worthy to march among the Knights.

The other girls had cleared off. Only Andy was there, lying across Bellatrix’s bed, stomach down and reading some book about mermaid drama, some rubbish her aunt Walburga had sent her. “What in Merlin’s trousers were you doing all this while?” she demanded.

“Would it kill you to speak like a lady?” Bellatrix plopped down next to her and tugged her robes off.

“Could you lend me a nightdress?” That was Andy’s way of asking if she could sleep in the four-poster bed with her. Bella had told her many times they were too old for that nonsense, but her argument held no weight, given that she’d started the habit herself. At Black Manor, Cygnus would not risk visiting with Andy by her side.

“Fine,” she said, tossing her a cotton dress before pulling back the cover and sliding into a cool pocket of fabric. Andy joined her a minute later, rolling over and facing the hangings separating them from the outside world.

Bellatrix lie on her back, her mind racing with excitement. Would she be invited to the Indoctrination Ceremony? What went on during those things anyway? She pictured a castle-like building, a lone hooded figure on a balcony. How would they have to prove themselves worthy of obtaining the most potent of magic?

“I wish we could just skip this summer,” Andy mumbled into the warm air. 

Bella didn’t respond. Regarding the summer, she was ambivalent: on the one hand, it was the last time she’d have before marriage. On the other, her relatives would be hovering over her, suffocating her until them. For all the pristine blood flowing through their veins, she really didn’t care for any of them.

Especially Cygnus and his cold indifference, yet looking her up and down every so often when she was in his presence. Sod him, she thought firmly. I don’t want his sick attention, don’t need his backward love, won’t play this game. 

The mantra brought comfort, for it was the truth. She didn’t need someone she’d superseded. She would replace him as Knight and crawl out from under his reach over her. Now Rodolphus was a different story—she had to figure him out, but she was certain she could play her cards right… 

Soon the faint sounds died out along with the light of the moonlight as Bellatrix slipped into black and calm. Even the stumbling, giggling arrivals of Hortensia Travers and Rose Greengrass did not wake her, nor Andy’s head settling in the crook of her elbow. Her dreams were filled with hooded figures marching as one, wands held aloft. And best of all, none of them were invaded by Cygnus.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶


End file.
